On the ride back home with everyone fatigued and spent I plugged on my trusty iPod and turned up Tiny Dancer by Elton John, which I particularly liked after seeing Almost Famous 10 years ago. Although I pretend to be unencumbered by trappings and unnecessary dramatics I do have these small kaartehan’s, such as listening to the perfect song in specific situations and in this particular instance, it is trying to live vicariously the what should have beens, such as being a young rock journalist like William Miller documenting the road show of a famous rock band. Too much drama and the song seemed like a bizarre choice, but as everyone in the movie hummed to it there was just the sense of community and sense of fluidity and everything seemed like things have just fallen perfectly in place, and all of a sudden the song didn’t seem too strange after all. For all I know while I was humming to it someone might have been retching as we drove past the zig-zags and someone might have been laughing at the off-beat photos on everyone’s digi-cams and people might have been talking on their cels and prematurely returning to work as they asked for updates on ward patients and such, but for the duration of the song there was the all too human drama–or hallucination, or delusion, or what you will, but it made me happy all the same–that I was not going to end a vacation or travelling back to work, but was instead being a writer with a piece on this rock band to write, being a young maverick, a rebel, unfettered, following only the stirrings of my heart.

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